


Swedish Spice Cake

by MajesticalJeff



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Accidents, Admiration, Autumn, Awkwardness, Baking, Baking catastrophe, Bashfulness, Beverly Katz And Alana are mentioned, Bickering, Birthdays, Cake, Challenges, Crushes, Doubt, Embarrassment, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff, Flustered Will, Hannibal totally knows it, Icing, M/M, Mess, Pining, Pretentiousness, Pumpkin Spice, Raking, Recipes, So are Jack and Bella, Spices, Teasing, Will has a crush on Hannibal, Wine, cockiness, disastor, encephalitis!will, faulty bowls, flattery, nerds, observation, pumpkin mutilation, self-conciousness, short fic, tediousness, therapy sessions, thunder storms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 00:26:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4766669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajesticalJeff/pseuds/MajesticalJeff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“That’s exactly what someone who’s bad at baking would say.” Will chided, his voice teasing as a smile fought itself onto his face. Hannibal's lips curved upwards in return as the scent of a challenge arouse between them.</p><p>“I feel as though I am being pushed to prove myself.” Hannibal murmured, eyebrows cocked up as he took a sip of his own wine, glass much fuller then Will’s, eyes locked with the other man's as he did, silently begging to be put to the test.</p><p>“I think you are.”</p><p>---<br/>Will and Hannibal attempt to bake together; things get messy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swedish Spice Cake

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for any mistakes, this is unbeta'd. Enjoy.

 

 

“Alana Bloom has informed me your birthday is next weekend.”

In the intimidating psychiatric office of Hannibal Lecter, Will sits in one of the boxy yet comfortable chairs set out for patients, expression unsurprised and forcefully disinterested. Unlike Hannibal’s relaxed posture, Will was wound tight, muscles clenched and shoulders bundled, his agitation wafting off of him like the sickly sweet scent of the encephalitis that was currently chewing at his brain.

“So?” He responded coolly, deciding to favor his gaze upon the thin stem of the wine glass in his hand. Hannibal had offered it after their time had together had ended and Will became no longer a patient, but an acquaintance, and dare even say friend.

Will’s cerulean gaze danced over the yellowish liquid inside the ornately thin bauble, not being the most avid of wine drinkers, Will had learned quickly to take it slowly lest his mouth revolt against the underlying bitter taste.

“Do you have plans?” Hannibal asked, voice persuading, coiling into Will’s skin and tempting him into speech. Will knew it what was the exact thing that made Hannibal so successful, but he resisted, instead taking a sip of the wine, pursing his lips as it slivered over his tongue, deciding to ponder the question before reluctantly answering.

“The celebration of birthdays are not something I traditionally participate in.” Will decided on dryly, a huff of breath making its way between words as the taste of the sweet wine soaked into his taste buds and touched the back of his throat. Almond and citrus clung ever so slightly to the drink, and Will’s brows scrunched as he tilted his gaze to the glass in his hand, looking at it in a new, interested light.

“May I inquire why?” Hannibal questioned, sounding genuinely curious. Will turned his cool gaze to Hannibal, darting his eyes to the man’s face quickly before letting them land on his shoulder, a much safe place.

“I believe our appointment has ended already.” Will remarked, sitting forward, gazed turned up to appraise the large room around him, a feeble attempt to shut Hannibal out and to move away from this conversation, but yet Hannibal still persisted, as Will figured he would.

 “Then I shall ask as a friend.” Hannibal replied and Will almost wanted to release a frustrated, exasperated noise. The man was nothing if not stubborn.

“I moved around a lot as a kid,” Will said with a defeated sigh, leaning back once more in the seat, using the plush leather to slide himself down slightly, feet braced on the floor, his position a mockery of dominance assertion and lazy discouragement. “Never really had time for birthdays.”

“And so that habit has clung to you into adulthood.” Hannibal murmured, finalizing Will’s statement for him. “Have you ever perhaps thought of redefining that tendency?”

Will’s eyebrows shot up and he almost snorted. “You mean celebrating my birthday?”

“If you had the opportunity to do so, how would you?” Hannibal questioned further, his professionalism slipping back into place ever so slightly. Will shot him a look and as if to back away from his area of expertise, Hannibal took a healthy sip from his own glass, thin lips curved around the cool crystal. Will wondered faintly if almonds could be tasted as well on Hannibal’s tongue as his own.

He frowned at that sudden thought before pushing it aside, deciding not to dwell on it lest the embarrassment color his cheeks and more questions were asked, and instead, he rather hurriedly answered.

“Stay home, perhaps go fishing.” It was a poor attempt, having been born in the month of October, fishing would be a harder task then in the summer, the water being colder and sharper, flicking and coursing as ice filled his veins and fish fled from the icy grasp. “What do you do to celebrate your birthday, Doctor Lecter?” Will asked instead, turning the tables to ignore his own discomfort.

“I also tend to cling to the slope of childhood experiences, preferring to make a dish my mother specialized in known as _šaltibarščiai_ , a cold beet soup well paired with a traditional dark rye bread. Although mine will be never quite as good as hers, I treasured what little time we had together.”

Will cocked his head, eyes flittering over Hannibal’s expression, one of emotionless detachment. He evidently did not want to dwell on the thought of lost family nor lone childhood celebrations, so instead Will piped up to save him from how own thoughts, “My father used to make a clam chowder on special occasions. Since he fixed boats, we were always near the water so he could find fresh ingredients.”

“Was you father a good cook?” Hannibal asked, a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes upon his face, obviously grateful for Will returning to the obviously distasteful conversation of his own family. Will snorted at the question. “Horrible, actually.”

Hannibal laughed lightly at this, short and rumbling, it made Will shift in his seat and took a larger sip of wine then he intended, the liquid burning a trail down the back of his throat like a bitter malt, making his voice hoarse as he quickly asked, “And your mother, was she a good cook?”

“We had a kitchen staff to do the most, but she enjoyed baking as a past-time. Although simmering pots and sauté pans were not her specialty, she always made an exception for šaltibarščiai.”

Cold beet soup. Will knew that was what Hannibal’s meant as his tongue rolled out the elegant, curling word, yet as he spoke his native tongue to Will, he couldn’t help but take a moment and let it cascade over him like crisp rain, exquisite and lovely in its own way.

“And so you are the opposite.” Will murmured dryly, sipping from his wine again, finding himself doing so more often, enjoying the taste of the refined liquid. “A preference for simmering pots and sauté pans over the heat of a baking tray?”

“I have found myself enticed by the quality of baking before, although it never seems to come out to my expectations.”

Will’s eyebrows rose, genuine surprise washing over him momentarily as Hannibal rearranged his legs, folding one muscled calf over the other, the shimmering bespoke material covering them revealing the slightest glimpse of blue pinstripes as the yellow light touched them. “I didn’t believe you could ever produce something bad in the kitchen, _Hannibal.”_

The use of Hannibal’s Christian name makes the man smile, a little wider and more genuine, delighting in the small satisfaction of closeness, and when he replied there was nothing but amusement in his voice. “I had never mentioned that I am _bad_ at baking, just that I have not developed a taste for it.”

“That’s exactly what someone who’s bad at baking would say.” Will chided, his voice teasing as a smile fought itself onto his face. Hannibal's lips curved upwards in return as the scent of a challenge arouse between them.

“I feel as though I am being pushed to prove myself.” Hannibal murmured, eyebrows cocked up as he took a sip of his own wine, glass much fuller then Will’s, eyes locked with the other man's as he did, silently begging to be put to the test.

“I think you are.” Will remarked casually, and Hannibal’s eyes widened in delighted surprise, cold maroon depths filled with curiosity and interest as Will held their stare. Setting his glass aside, Will ran his hands down over his thighs as he leaned forward slightly, a contemplative expression donning his face.

“How about, _you_ bake me a cake.” Will declared, and Hannibal’s disbelief was a potent thing, it was very unlike Will to come forward with such confidence, being a creature of comfort and independence, something like this would not be in his nature, but as Hannibal met the stormy colored eyes that bore down upon him, he saw the amusement and smugness written beneath. Will wanted nothing more than to see Hannibal out of his comfort zone. “My birthday _is_ this weekend.”

Hannibal’s thin lips curved into a smile as he leaned more comfortably back into his seat, shifting his shoulders so as his torso was turned and his posture not directed towards Will, entirely too smug and entertained. He was netted and trapped by obligations but yet he was still interested in a continuation of this _challenge_. “And what am I to get out of this?”

Will bit his lip, dragging pristine yet coffee stained teeth over his plump bottom lip, debating. Finally, with a small smile, he turned his sly gaze onto Hannibal, eyes slightly narrowed and grin tugged over his gruff features. “I’ll help.”

“You will _help._ ” Hannibal mused, tasting the words on his tongue as he had done so many times with fine wines and rich meats, yet somehow they felt so much sweeter. Will Graham in his kitchen, stripped down from layers of armor to participate in the exact measuring and commitment of _baking_.

Hannibal cocked his head, drinking from the cool bauble of his wine glass, letting the yellow liquid roll over his tongue as his words soon did. “I agree to your terms.”

 

* * *

 

 

With plans set and recipe found, Hannibal almost felt a trill of excitement over the upcoming occasion between himself and Will. Time had passed quickly, leaves finishing the very last of their color changing before fluttering to the ground, crunching underfoot and making a mess of the good Doctor’s lawn, forcing him out of the warm nest of his home to rake the dreadful things from the limp grass that dusted the front of his home.

He was in the middle of the tedious activity when the unmistakable vehicle of Will Graham pulled up, the murky tan colored van standing out like a beacon against the pristine Porsches and luxury cars that peppered Hannibal’s street. Will seemed unbothered by this as parked and exited to make his approach, dressed in a brown flannel shirt and a steel grey blazer, he gave the desired effect of casual, but even with his glasses in place, it was impossible to miss the exhaustion whittled into lines around his eyes.

Hannibal paused in his activity to watch Will approach, not missing the bottle of wine that he carried, its presence sparking his interest. “Good afternoon, Will.” He greeted pleasantly as Will walked up the long stone step walkway that separated his yard into two.

“Hello Hannibal.” Will replied on a huff of air, admiring the large economical paper bags and leaf pile Hannibal had on his front yard with an arched brow. “This is something I had never expected to see.”

Hannibal gave him a pressed smile, as he leaned against the glassy handle of his rake, eyebrows raised in questioning. “You do not believe I would tend to my own home?”

“No, I just never figured I’d _see_ you doing it.” Will replied teasingly, lips curled ever so slightly into a smile.

“Well your participation would be greatly valued if you’d like to assist.” Hannibal replied, gesturing towards that large paper bags as an invitation. “I believe I need an extra pair of hands.”

“Of course. I’ll just set this down and remove my jacket.” Will said with a small smile before jogging up to the door and opening it, sliding inside for a few minutes before returning, pushing up his sleeves to show lean forearms as he did. Conversation picked up, Hannibal inquiring about dinner and Will confessing he’d already eaten a fair share of pancakes with his work acquaintance Beverly Katz. Hannibal wasn’t particularly hungry himself so he was not bothered.

With the help of Will, Hannibal managed to cut the time it would’ve taken to finish the task in half, although they were both thoroughly flustered by the cooling wind and the scrape of prickly leaves against their bared flesh. Hannibal’s wool sweater more than once collected bits and pieces along the sleeves that he irritatingly attempted to pull out, only to find that they would break into smaller pieces and tangle themselves into the fine material.

Will thought it was funny, stifling his snorts into the back of his hand as he tried to keep a straight face. It didn’t work.

Leaving the bags at the corner of the driveway alongside the lone trashcan and recycling bin, the two men made their way inside Hannibal’s pleasantly warm home. Will had set his jacket on a hanger already, turning instead to pick up the wine bottle up from where he’d left it on the small decorative table beside the door. He consciously worried if it was up to Hannibal’s standards; _Le Dragon de Qvintvs Rouge_ had been a gift last Christmas from Jack’s wife, Bella, who’d always been generally nice to him. After some googling, Will realized that the bottle had been nearly fifty dollars and set it aside until now, which seemed like a good reason to crack it open.

Turning his attention back to Hannibal, he was pleasantly surprised to see him removing the sweater over his head, his untucked shirt underneath riding up to show a line of tanned skin that Will couldn’t help but stare a little too long at. He’d been aware of the attraction that had been building for his aqu- _friend -_ over time, but now was not the time to be thinking that way. He quickly diverted his gaze to a more respectful level.

Hannibal folded the sweater and left it aside to pick up later, turning to Will instead with a pleasant smile. Will awkwardly jutting his hand out to offer the bottle of wine to the other man, purposefully not meeting his gaze. “I didn’t know what to bring.”

“Only your company is necessary, Will, but thank you very much. We can drink this while he work if you’d like.” Hannibal offered, taking a step forward. Will never paid much attention to the Doctor’s height until he was bearing down on him, his calming composer suffocating, filling Will’s every pore and washing over his senses, prompting him to feel the same ivory sanity that the man in front of him wore like a fine jacket.

Swallowing thickly, Will stepped back and quickly pressed a smile onto his face. “Sure. After you?”

Will had become acquainted with Hannibal’s persian blue dining room before, seen the long dark table and smelt the herbs growing in quaint boxes along the opposite wall, but he’d only thrice been in Hannibal’s kitchen, and never for very long each time.

The walls were painted a warm cinnamon and the counters were sturdy granite. An island stood in the center of the room, a knife holder and cutting board sitting ready at the edge as if Hannibal decided to sporadically cut vegetables at any time. Will couldn’t really judge seeing as the most effort he’d ever put into feeding himself was pressing buttons on a microwave or reading the instructions on the side of a box of Kraft Dinner.

“So have you decided what type of cake we’re making?” Will asked sarcastically, a small grin working itself onto his lips. Hannibal had routinely made desserts before and Will knew this, but we had never seen the man physically _bake_ something that wasn’t ornate or pretentious, meant to impress and to taste not so much to fill or _enjoy_. Preferably at three in the morning while in boxers on the couch, if he had to get particular.

“I deemed a Swedish spice cake with pumpkin butter-cream icing would be suiting to the season.” Hannibal replied, walking around the island to set down the bottle Will had handed him. He turned his gaze up to the other man. “If that it quite alright.”

Will, who’s experience in cake stretches about as far as chocolate or vanilla, shouldn’t really have expected any less, but yet his eyebrows still rose and he did that derisively little nose twitch that Hannibal had seemed to zone in on continuously. “Sure, you’re the one making the rules.”

Hannibal, who’d moved to get a set of glasses from one of the olive wood cupboards, paused, looking over his shoulder with raised eyebrows and a slow smile curving his lips. “Is that so?”

Suddenly hot under the collar, Will couldn’t retain the blush that crawled up his neck and turned his gaze away. Hannibal, pleased with this reaction, retrieved some of his plainer crystal glasses and moved to set them upon the counter before retrieving the bottle opener.

“So Will, how would you like to begin?” Hannibal asked as he worked the screw through the wax sealing at the top, he warm gaze on Will, who slid onto one of the stools tucked against the island.

“How would you regularly begin?” Will asked with a frown, placing his elbows on the counter and subconsciously running his teeth over his thumbnail. Hannibal’s pale brows arched as he pulled the cork free with a popping noise, steam slipping up from the inside of the dark green glass.

“Well,” He said was he poured the rich dark liquid into their separate glasses, barely even halfway. “I tend to wash my hands first.” He said pointedly and Will snorted, taking the hint and getting up to move to the glossy sink.

After using a minty smelling soap to scrub at his hands and remove the day’s activities from them, Will returned to his seat to find a glass of wine awaiting and two small slips of thick paper, elegant longhand written upon them. Will realized with interest that they were recipes and peered down at the two separate ones.

“How old are these?” Will questioned, glancing up at Hannibal curiously as the man walked around the counter to stand at its end, leaving just the corner of marble between them as he leaned in to look at his own scrollwork.

“A few years at the very least.” Hannibal hummed, leaning back into his own space, Will exhaling a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“They’re surprisingly…” Will paused, tilted in head and frowning as his stormy gaze rolled over the divinely inked words. “Simple.”

“I thought you would prefer it.” Hannibal retaliated. Will pressed his lips together understandingly and have a short nod of agreement. Knowing him, if he didn’t burn down the entire damn house he’d at least fuck up how much butter to put in.

“So what’s the game plan?” Will asked, sliding the wine glass that had been placed for him into his grip. It was unusually red, the light dancing through it and melding the color onto the counter beneath it and over Will’s fingers as he picked it up and took a sip.

When Hannibal raised his brows, Will huffed and waved a hand in an explanatory fashion. “I do the icing while you do the cake? How long does each of these take?”

“The cake itself bakes for forty-five to fifty minutes, although preparation is not long. The pumpkin for the icing, of course, needs to be carved and baked before pureed and used.”

Will’s eyebrows rose as a smile grin worked itself onto his face. “Are you saying I get to gut and carve a pumpkin?”

“You get to gut, carve, and _bake_ a pumpkin, yes.” Hannibal replied, reveling in the almost childlike excitement folded onto Will’s face, making Hannibal subconsciously smile.

Hannibal began their process by taking out the things they’d needs; bowls, spoons, hand blender and a few pans. He also added a roll of paper towel to the collection on the island while making side eyes at Will, who raised his eyebrows at the other man.

Will offered to help with the collection of ingredients, navigating the large fridge while Hannibal took to the cabinets, meeting in the center of the room to place their findings. By the time every ingredient was scrounged up and Hannibal had preheated the oven, they could begin in earnest.

They moved to separate sides of the kitchen, Will taking the island while Hannibal took the counter space beside the sink, their recipes set where they could see as they both began.

Will was tempted, undeniably, to take his phone out and play some music and fill the stiff silence. Country perhaps? He resisted the urge to snort aloud at the reaction that would wind from the other man. Instead, he turned his attention to the pumpkin that had been placed on the counter, not very large and with a long stem. Hannibal had left him a serrated blade to use.

Rolling out the paper towels and setting a small bowl aside for the inner sludge, Will set to work, cutting a rough circle around the stem before yanking it out, the cracking of hard vegetable and squish of separating seeds filling the space around him as he set the into the bottom of the bowl.

Will peered down into the pumpkin, evaluating the inner goo with pressed lips. Hannibal had left him a spoon to scrape the insides loose before pulling them out, luckily enough that didn’t take much time and within minutes Will re-rolled his sleeves before reaching into the pumpkin to grab a handful of the slimy seeds and glop that inhabited it.

They pulled free with such a loud, frivolous squelching noise that even Hannibal looked around, catching Will’s vaguely horrified expression before he turned his face into his shoulder to snicker. Hannibal rolled his eyes and sighed lightly before going back to measuring flour.

Once the pumpkin was emptied and sliced, Will quickly sprayed down the tray Hannibal had left him before sliding it into the oven and setting the timer. Casually walking up beside Hannibal, who was adding eggs singe handedly to his batter whilst the other hand controlled a hand mixer, and turning on the tap, trying to ignore the way their shoulders brushed from the close proximity.

“How’s the batter going?” Will asked casually as he rubbed the minty warm soap into his pumpkin-caked fingers.

“It is going well, and the icing?”

“So far nothing has gone wrong, so I think that’s a good sign.” Will said, a small grin pushing itself onto his face as he took the cloth hanging from a small hook beside the sink, using it to dry his hands as Hannibal turned off the hand blender to stack the eggshells together.

Hannibal laughed at Will’s words, genuinely humored by them. “Yes, that is a very good sign.”

They stood facing one-another, eyes locked and smiles in place for what seemed like hours. Finally, Hannibal cleared his throat slightly and Will nearly jumped, realizing only then that his hands were long since dried. A pink flush crawled up his neck as he quickly hooked the cloth back up. “Right, sorry.”

They parted again, Will, who was thoroughly flustered, moving back to his end of the kitchen to start on the icing itself. There was something very melodic and comforting about it all, the whizzing noise of the metal whisk against the steel bowl as he combined sugar, cinnamon, and nutmeg into a bowl before moving on to the paddle mixer on the countertop, unhooking the bowl so as to place butter and cream cheese.

Hannibal, across the room, was whisking something intently, muscles shifting under the back of his shirt and Will took a rather selfish moment to bite his lip and admire. For a psychiatrist, he would have to admit that the Doctor was well fit, something he’d gathered from several experiences, including the time he caught Will’s full weight against himself when he slipped upon some ice just outside his door. Hannibal had held him up like it was nothing, which was quite an impressive feat for a man who made tomatoes into roses and knew a wine by its scent alone.

Speaking of wine… Will paced quickly to the island to take his own glass and retreat back to the mixer, watching the contents inside the steel bowl collide and mix into a paste. The wine tasted faintly of fruits- a ripe strawberry or two along with raspberry sneaking in amongst bitter-sweet grapes. There was also a faint yet distinct flowery taste. It was not something Will would enjoy on his own, but here in the grand home of Hannibal Lecter, he found letting himself embrace some of that pampering elegance was not a fault of its own.

Outside, a growl of thunder rumbled, make them both look up in surprise. Although it’d been cloudy earlier, a storm was unexpected. Perhaps Will would get lucky and it would pass over them, making it easier for him to drive home. Unfortunately, this didn’t happen, thick, fat rain drops falling within minutes and darkening the sky outside the windows to the point of blackness.

When the cream cheese and butter were fully blended, Will set his glass aside, going back to the island so as to measure out powdered sugar and add the previous spices to it. The pumpkin would be finished within minutes.

Will paused when he looked down at the aged ceramic brown bowl he was to mix the two in, if he squinted it almost looked like there was… a crack perhaps?

“Thank you for the wine, Will, it is a pleasant surprise.” Hannibal said, distracting Will from his examining to Hannibal taking another sip from the exceptionally red liquid, his mouth going dry at the expanse of soft caramel covered skin showing as Hannibal’s head tilted back and exposed his throat.

“Y- _you’re_ welcome.” Will stammered, instantly turned away to silently curse himself. This wasn’t the time or the place to think about the fact he was attracted to his damn _psychiatrist._ What was it with him and those? First Alana now Dr. Lecter… either he was strange or he had a surprise kink for attractive people poking around his head. It was lucky he’d spent so many years avoiding them.

With a huff of breath, Will turned back to the counter, luckily enough Hannibal was in the middle of pouring the batter into a small, square pan, giving him time to let the blush fade from his cheeks. Will hastily measure out the powdered sugar and added it to the spices, heading towards the paddle mixer once more.

The recipe said to add the sugar slowly, so turning the machine back on at medium –which still seemed pretty fast in Will’s opinion- he took to gently tapping some of the sugar and spice mix. Will was consciously aware of Hannibal approaching with the pan to place in the own alongside the pumpkin which conveniently cooked at the same temperature.

Will, apparently, was more aware of the good Doctor then what was about to happen. With a sudden _clunk,_ the bowl in his hand split, the half of it tumbling into the steel bowl and bringing the powdered sugar with it. Will had mere seconds to realize what was about to happen, trying to use that time to exclaim for Hannibal to duck or _anything._

Powdered sugar quite literally _exploded_ outwards at ceramic met the metal paddle, setting it off place and tossed thick chunks of partial icing and powdered sugar in every direction while making an angry whirling noise. Will hastily scrambled back and became unbalanced, his heel making contact with something soft moments before something sticky spilled down his back and metal hit tiles, Hannibal’s hands scrambling to stop him from falling.

It was an absolute disaster, but once Will was back on his feet he rushed to the machine, slamming the power button and yanking the cord from the wall for good measure as the powdered sugar still wafting through the air settled.

It was silent in the aftershock of what happened, both men frozen. Will slowly turned to look at Hannibal, who’d somehow managed to be _less_ lucky then Will. He, unfortunately, hadn’t the time nor way to cover his eyes or face, leaving him covered in snowy white powder peppered with brown spices. As for the stickiness Will had felt- it appeared he’d fallen back into Hannibal, spilling the pan onto both of them and causing Hannibal to drop it in order to stop Will from falling.

Hannibal slowly opened his eyes, sharp maroon irises standing starkly against the powder that covered his face, expression a mixture of dumbstruck and completely unimpressed. So Will did what any person would do.

He laughed.

Hunching over and placing his hands onto his knees, choking for breath as giggles and gasps riveted his body, “ _I- I told you,”_   he managed to splutter, straightening but still keeping an arm around his stomach as he laughed himself hoarse. “I told you I was a bad cook.”

“I never believe you would be _this_ bad.” Hannibal chided with a sigh, taking in the mess that had become his kitchen. While it’d gotten messy before- a spilled pan or overflowing pot- Hannibal had never seen anything like _this._ Powdered sugar was sprayed over the counter and floor, bits of cream cheese and butter joining it, both men positively _covered_ in it. On the floor between them, the thick brown batter was splattered, and what wasn’t there was on the front of Hannibal’s shirt and pants and spread over Will’s back.

And yet Will _laughed._ He found humor in a ridiculous, angering situation, and it nearly brought him to the floor panting. Before Hannibal could control himself, he found a smile working onto his face and a laugh escaping, siphoning off some of Will’s joy for himself, reveling in it.

They both stood, illogically laughing yet content with it, covered in their attempt at communal kitchen baking until Hannibal exhaled deeply, forcing calm, and said, “I think we may need to clean ourselves up.”

“I don’t have any other clothes.” Will pointed out, a grin still on his face even though the conversation at turned. Hannibal waved a hand dismissively. “I very well couldn’t let you go home in this storm, Will, you may borrow some of mine and stay in a guest room this night.”

Will paused, mouth slightly parted and a strange look in his eyes. “Are you quite sure?”

Hannibal inclined his show before adding. “May I also suggest a shower?”

Will snorted, looked down at himself as he ran a hand through his powdered sugar dusted curls. “I think that’s in my best interest. Yours as well. You’re covered.”

“It’s quite alright.” Hannibal assured but Will snorted again, shaking his head. “No, it’s not, you’re just too polite to say.”

Hannibal couldn’t help but allow a smile at that before leaning down to unlace his shoes. Will, picking up on what Hannibal was doing, did the same, carefully avoiding the snowy mess upon the floor as he set the boots aside and followed the other man from the room to the upstairs towards the bedrooms.

Hannibal turned into his own, holding the door for Will, who raised his eyebrows as he entered, appraising every inch and detail. “The master bathroom is preferable to the others I believe, so feel free to use the shower. I will leave something for you and if you want to leave your own attire on the sink I will come take for washing.”

“You really don’t have…” Will trailed off before realizing Hannibal _did_ have to, Will would need something to wear home tomorrow and tonight. So instead he just smiled respectfully and slid into the bathroom.

After a few minutes, Hannibal heard the shower start and he went to the closest, stripping himself of his own gunk covered clothing, staying in just his underwear and a navy blue bathrobe as he looked around for something that could possibly fit his houseguest.

It came down to a pair of soft flannel sleep pants and the red knit sweater he favored, adding a pair of underwear subtly to the pile, saving Will any embarrassment seeing as he’d had plenty of that this night. Tying the sash of his robe, Hannibal knocked on the bathroom door three times before sliding in, setting the clothing down on the counter space beside the sink.

The shower doors were fogged over, but Will was easily definable through them. Hannibal looked away for modesty’s sake, calling over his shoulder instead. “I’ve left the clothing upon the counter. I hope you do not mind I am taking a second to rinse clean my face.”

The door slid open partially, Will looked out with a bashful smile, cheeks flushed and water dripping from his wet curls. “I’ll be out in a minute if you want to shower.”

“It is quite fine Will, I will do so later, take your time.” Hannibal replied and Will nodded jerkily, sliding the door shut once more. Hannibal turned to look into the long, wide mirror places against the wall and his lip curled at the sight of himself. It was a complete disgrace to look like such a mess, yet it didn’t seem to bother him- in fact he should be furious at Will, cutting him from neck to crotch and digging his organs out while he still lived, yet doing such seemed petty and unreasonable.

Instead, Hannibal took a washcloth from under the counter and dampened it, wiping the mess from his neck and face, some even clung to his chest hair, having fell down the front of his shirt. After leaving the bathroom and closing the door louder than usual to inform Will of his exit, Hannibal tossed the cloth into his hamper before going about dressing himself, getting into a pair of comfortable sleep pants so Will wouldn’t feel awkward in his own. The shower stops somewhere behind him and Hannibal doesn’t pause in search for a shirt he would be comfortable _relaxing_ in, seeing as Will was currently hosting his preferred sweater.

He does pause, however, when he hears the approach of soft footsteps minutes later. Turning and straightening his body, Hannibal did not bother to cover his bared torso, head coked curiously as Will tapped unsurely on the closet door and peered in. The sweater was large on him, as predicted, and the drawstrings on the pants were pull taut and tied so they would stay up on his lean hips.

“I just wanted to apologize for messing up your kitchen. And your cake. And you evening.” Will said awkwardly, not meeting Hannibal’s eyes as he ducked his head, his still damp curls glistening, purposely looking anywhere but his psychiatrist.

“Will, you did not ruin anything.” Hannibal chided gently, approaching his friend and placing a hand gently on Will’s shoulder, the action causing the other man’s attention to snap to Hannibal in surprise, seeing the genuine emotions on the maroon eyes.

“No, you’re right,” Will said, a small grin on his face. “It was your faulty _dishes_ fault.”

Hannibal narrowed his eyes, but there was no threat behind it, instead he teased Will back. “My dishes are not faulty.”

“Oh yes they are, the bowl was the one that- _hmp.”_ Will was cut off as Hannibal leaned down, catching Will’s lips in his own for a warm, tender kiss that the other man melted into, hands placing themselves hesitantly on Hannibal’s broad shoulders as he leaned up, accepting the warm slide of lips against his own.

Hannibal pulled back gently, softly tugging Will’s bottom lip with his teeth momentarily as he did. Will stared up at him with glazed eyes, cheeks pinked from surprise and lips parted, surprise lining his every feature.

“I am sorry if I have offended you.” Hannibal said, knowing very well he didn’t, but he would rather save Will the embarrassment of revealing he’d picked up on the man’s obvious attraction to him _long_ ago. Instead, Hannibal twisted his face into a falsified somewhat flustered and bashful expression that made Will’s eyes soften.

“No offense taken.” Will murmured in reply, placing a hand along Hannibal’s cheek, his heart fluttering as the man leaned into it, sloped eyes locked intently on Will’s. “In fact I’ll forget the whole thing if you do it again.”

And so Hannibal did, ducking down again to kiss those cupid’s bows lips and the mouth hidden behind them, the florally taste of wine still clinging to Will’s tongue as their kiss became open mouth and heated, Will nearly jumping when Hannibal’s tongue glided into his mouth, but it went accepted none the less.

They stumble non too gracefully from the closet in the direction of Hannibal’s elegant yet modern bed, Will turning suddenly so as to push Hannibal into a sitting position on the mattress and clambering onto his lap to continue their feverish kissing, strong hands running over each other’s body in long awaited passions.

Their kiss broke, but only so as their mouths could trace over other heated skin skin, Will pressing soft kissed along Hannibal’s jaw with his kiss swollen lips as the other man went for his neck, tracing down over the untanned skin and bluish veins underneath, nipping and licking gently.

Will suddenly stiffened on top of Hannibal, the action followed by a very sudden, “Oh _shit_.”

Pulling back with a frown, Hannibal leaned back so as to see his friend already gazing at him with an expression of vague horror. “ _The pumpkin_.”

Hannibal was going to ask what Will had meant when it suddenly dawned on him as well, that the pumpkin had been abandoned in the still cooking oven. There was a momentary pause of processing thought before, together, they scrambled up, detangling so as to hurry from the room and down to the still messy kitchen.

Smoke curled from the oven and Will pulled open the door, trying not to gag as he got a face full. Evidently, if Will and Hannibal couldn’t bake on their own, maybe it was best they not do it _together_ \- This theory was further ensured as Hannibal pulled the blackened and pungent pumpkin chunks from the burning hot oven, the heated pan still burning his skin through the oven mitts.

Somewhere behind them, the fire alarm went off. Hannibal was at the sink, holding his hands under cool water, Will rushing off to turn off the blasted wailing alarm while the pumpkin smoked from its spot on the oven in the smokey powdered sugar coated kitchen.

It may have been the last time they baked together, but it was most definitely _not_ the last night Will Graham stayed the night in Hannibal’s home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and giving kudos if you did! 
> 
> The bowl splitting like that is actually something that happened to my friend once and ever since then she hated any sort of baking, so i figured it'd be a good idea. Also, pumpkin spiced EVERYTHING is coming so i figured i'd get on that train right at the get-go.  
> Quick shoutout to @novakrachel77 on twitter who was totally behind the creation of this.
> 
>  
> 
> Have a prompt? Hit me up on my tumblr; http://majesticaljeff.tumblr.com/


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